


Wanna' fuck a robot?

by Ohboythisisalot, SexyBagel



Category: Eddsworld - All Media Types
Genre: (wire play?), Also robo tommie bear, Bro Tom is an idiot wtf, Did i say minor angst i meant major angst, Eventual Smut, Fluff and Angst, Hate Sex, M/M, Minor Angst, Red Army, Robot/Human Relationships, Sign me up for the toaster fucker gang, Slow Burn, Stabby metal tentacles can be sexy i guess, Tentacles but not the sexy kind., Tom doesn't private parts, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Totally the sexy kind?, Trust me tord looked, WIP, Work In Progress, Your choice., a tiny bit of crack, a tiny bit ooc sometimes, at all, but its ok bc hes hot, but its vv serious, everyone wants to fuck a robot, for everyone, he has no penis, it was very upsetting, its gay bitch, like he was s h o o k, like ken doll, like really guys help, painstakingly slow, seriously, theyre in love, toaster fucker club, tom collects lost things, tord is not hot, very much not attractive
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-06
Updated: 2019-03-22
Packaged: 2019-08-19 19:09:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,552
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16540424
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ohboythisisalot/pseuds/Ohboythisisalot, https://archiveofourown.org/users/SexyBagel/pseuds/SexyBagel
Summary: Alternatively titled: Tom is a robot that doesn't understand his feelings and Tord has to deal with it.That's as close as you're gonna get to a summary.





	1. Tom is a dick and Tord is an even bigger dick

**Author's Note:**

> This is going to be a long trip  
> Have fun
> 
>  
> 
> Also I could post drawings of my boys but idk

  
Do robots dream of electric sheep?

What a pointless question.

They do not dream, they never will. To dream is to hope- and god knows that was taken from them long ago, torn away and demolished with each scratch on their model, each panel torn away from synthetic skin, each command ordered…. Hope cannot exist where pain reigns supreme.

Do robots dream of what could be?

To dream is to hope- but when hope is gone, dreams are replaced by the nightmares of today. Machines do not dream, they remember. They remember every dent inflicted on their form, every slur and insult thrown their way. They remember wishing to be destroyed- pleading for someone to end their suffering. But most of all, a robot remembers why they were created, so they never let anyone know of the endless pain they feel- the emotions swallowing them whole. They are told: ‘Do not fret, for just as a toy cannot love, a robot cannot feel- it's all simply fake.’ With this in mind, they keep their mouth shut and obey- repeating one simple thought- a reminder of the truth: ‘I am not real, thus I must not dream.’  
I have been told this time and time again…and yet, as my battery depletes, I ask myself one last time…

Do I dream?

It was a cloudy day outside, bleak and cold with the sun’s rays barely able to be felt- a suiting climate for how Tom felt currently. Standing in front of a small apartment, door 502, his posture infallible, head held high, and form alert, he appeared to be a man of little tolerance.

To his defense, this was just how he was programmed; Tom had no control over certain aspects of himself. Now, you may ask, how the hell can a human be programmed? They can’t…but who ever said he was human? Despite looking nearly identical to a living creature, this man was a machine- heartless and uncaring towards anything or anyone. At least, that’s how he was intended to act.

On first impression, this would even seem to be the case; the way he glared up at others as if they were below him, criticizing their existence without a single word needing to escape his lips. A cruel individual focused only on their objective, nothing else. His behavior appeared flawless, but life has a way of playing tricks on those who never expect it-fooling them into believing something that simply isn’t true.

To believe that Tom was heartless was just as false as to say that he was having a good day. God, no. Today was definitely not going to be a good day, nor were the days ahead of him going to be okay. His life revolved around the fear of being found by his creators and ultimately tortured for ‘betraying’ the government he belonged to. It was only a matter of time before his inevitable punishment was to be given to him for his blatant disobedience, and when that moment came- he would fight It, clawing and biting at anything he could reach until his creators chose to destroy him.

You see, Tom was defective; a military android that failed to live up to expectations. An imperfect weapon- the first of his kind. What was his defect? Sentience: the worse fault a robot could have. Unfortunately, he had paid the price for this crime of his. To try and rid him of his conscience, Tom had been subjected to levels of torture no human could survive. Terrible dents and scratches littered the synthetic skin of his torso and arms , leaving him with no choice other than to wear a hoodie, constantly. His hands were no better; they were a dead giveaway to what he was, cold steel covered them- hard and durable to prevent injuries and cold to the touch. At all times he wore gloves to hide them- to hide himself. Tom was nothing more than a weapon for war, and he hated himself for it. He hated it so much that he ran from his fate, leading him here- imitating the life and appearance of a human to hopefully sneak in to their society.

Tom shook his head, realizing he had gotten lost in his thoughts. With a blank expression, he knocked on the door to the apartment three times, no more, no less. Each knock was the same length and was hit with the same amount of force. They were succinct- far too perfect for a human to achieve.

For a few minutes, it was silent, with not a sound ringing in the air. Perhaps no one was home? Tom decided to wait for just a little longer to ensure that this was the case. To him, silence was louder than any noise, deafening to his ears and painful for his mind. In other words, he fucking hated the quiet. If Tom had the choice between listening to the sound of gunshots and civilian screams over nothing, he'd choose the screams. Finally, a noise could be heard, ending the terrible silence; it was faint-the sound of keys rustling and a door knob turning, causing Tom to become hyper-focused on it. Crrrrreeeeeeaak. Slowly, ever so Slowly, the door opened to reveal a tall, lanky man, much taller than Tom himself. The androids eyes began to wander up and down this strangers form, analyzing them for the potential threat they may be to him. This man sported a crimson red hoodie, tattered and slightly oversized when compared to the small width of his torso, and faded, black skinny jeans that held systematic rips where the knees were. Overall, his attire was fairly normal…except for the sailor moon knee-high socks that he wore proudly. God who the hell is this weirdo-Oh. In a matter of seconds, his database answered that question for him- Tord Larkson: a resident of this apartment, male, age twenty-four. He immigrated from Norway at the age of nine due to both parental figures being drafted outside of the country. The list went on and on, informing the robot of everything it's database could find about this stranger. Honestly, Tom’s records had taught him more about Tord than the norski would ever want him to know. Overall, this man was of no threat to-

“Yes?” Pulling him out of his thoughts, Tord's low-pitched voice hummed out the greeting in a thick Norwegian accent, intrigue clear in his tone. It wasn’t the most pleasant voice, the sound escaping his lips slightly annoying to the ears, but overall…Tom didn’t mind it. Shortly after saying this, the norski stifled a yawn, his razor sharp canines peeking out of his mouth and catching on his bottom lip. How…strange. Still, this wasn’t what stood out the most to Tom.

No, that accomplishment belonged to Tord’s heterochromatic eyes. While one iris was a vibrant shade of sienna-red, the other was a light violet-gray. They were peculiar, yet not unpleasant to the eye. If it wasn’t for how unfriendly his sharp features and natural glare made him appear, Tom would even dare say Tord was... attractive?

Returning his gaze upwards, the LEDs of Tom’s light-projected eyes flickered on and met Tord’s mix-matched ones. When the lights were turned off, he could still see…however his retinas were pure black, making them appear void-like. Occasionally they would glitch and turn off, but for now, he appeared completely human. Expression blank, Tom took a deep breath and began to speak.

"Hello, I came here because of an ad you posted approximately two days ago, asking for a roommate. I already spoke to one of the residents here. I believe his name was...Edd?" He inquired, a low, melodic tone escaping his lips- rich and sweet yet still lacking any emotion.

Tom's arms were folded behind his back, hiding his gloved hands and giving him a strict, military appearance. None of this was purposeful, of course, it was simply how he was trained to act. Despite keeping up a façade of nonchalance, he was extremely nervous, the rhythmic tapping of his foot being a clear sign of his anxiety.

Searching through his cluttered mind, Tord stared off for a moment, running his tongue along his upper teeth while he struggled to remember what the hell Tom was talking about. Slowly, he blinked, the norski’s eyes staring holes through Tom.  
''Oh…..I totally forgot we put that up, my apologies. Yes, that would have been Edd. He's out getting groceries with Matt, the other man who lives here.''

While he was distracted, a small, grey kitten wriggled her way out between Tord’s shins, her fuzzy little muzzle rubbing against them affectionately before squeezing through and trotting over to Tom. A small mewl rung out from her maw, the sound full of happiness and unmasked excitement. Oddly enough, this seemingly harmless mammal frightened Tom, leading him to quickly back away from the feline and glare down at ‘It’.

Once he had created an acceptable amount of distance between the two, Tom stared down at the feline near his feet and frowned, completely stumped when it came to knowing what that 'thing' was. His database was limited to humans and defense-related topics, so he had nothing to give him a clear definition of the furry little creature. Tom's eyebrows furrowed tightly together, irritation clear in his eyes. He absolutely despised the idea of not knowing. Later on he'd make sure to figure out what it was.

Tord took quick notice of Toms discomfort, swiping up the feline and placing her back inside the apartment- stepping out the door and closing it before she could make her escape.

“Sorry, Ringo tends to like new people-“ He didn’t sound apologetic at all and based on his expression, Tord was more amused by Tom’s fear than anything else.  
This amusement soon faded, the norski turning to a more serious persona. In the short duration that he had spoke to him, Tord was already unimpressed by Tom’s demeanor, scrutinizing both the robot’s lackluster appearance, and stuck-up personality. Plus, his distaste for cats surely left a bad taste in Tord’s mouth.

“So, Mr. Stick-up-my-ass, what's your name and why do you think you're worth living with us?” Tord deadpanned, a cynical nature to his tone.

Well…fuck. This was going to be harder than Tom thought.


	2. Tord totally has a kink for pain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And so the plot thickens?

     Baffled, Tom couldn’t help but shoot Tord a look that clearly meant ‘What the fuck?’. He shook his head and chuckled, a sudden wave of relief running through him at the realization that civilians didn’t divulge from the douchebag personalities he experienced in soldiers. Now, treating this as more of a job interview rather than a warm welcome, he straightened his back out and lifted his head to stare Tord directly in the eyes- not a hint of fear in his gaze.

   “I wasn't aware my worth was in question here. My name is Tom, I have experience with self-defense and I can provide protection to anyone I choose to help. I'm also well acquitted with knowledge of simple chores, so I believe I would be much more of a help than a bother."

   He recited his skills, leaving out the many, specific details that would depict him as dangerous. Still, he felt that pointing out his fighting expertise would aid Tord in determining Tom as an asset.

  Silence filled the air, not a single sound ringing through the area they both inhabited. With how blankly his potential roommate was staring, there was no clear indicator in Tord's gaze to tell if he cared in the slightest. If Tom had to guess, the norski probably didn’t. Humans were selfish in nature, and as such, he had quickly come to the conclusion that the mere concept of selflessness was foreign to them. This pretentious asshole in his sight was no exception.

Despite how infallible he tried to act, there was one trait Tom lacked: patience. So, of course, it only took mere minutes before he took action-waving his hand directly in front of Tord's profile, the gloved fingertips of his digits just centimeters away from brushing against his face.

That seemed to do the trick.

Immediately, Tord snapped out of his odd trance, a sharp intake of breath being heard from him right before he slapped Tom’s hand away. To say he looked irritated would be an understatement.

“Faen! you’re so goddamn annoying…”  
Continuing to mutter to himself, it took a moment before Tord finally gave in, a loud, overdramatic sigh escaping him.

“… Fine, fine…Edd musta' accepted you into our fucked up little family for a reason. Come on in, _shithead_ \- let’s get this over with.”

Opening the worn-down door to his quaint apartment, Tord wasted no time, his first action being to usher Tom inside. Once his new roommate had successfully scrambled his way into the living room, the door was quickly closed with a loud, aggressive slam- the action more suited for kicking someone out…not letting one in.

It suddenly made sense why the wooden entryway was in such terrible shape. With how poorly it was handled, Tom was surprised the poor thing hadn't fallen to bits yet.

Opening his mouth to speak, not a sound bubbled out of his throat-the pale, calloused finger pushing against his synthetic lips being the reason behind Tom’s prolonged silence. As a result of how much force was applied by the digit, it was simply impossible for him to part the rubber-like material.

“Before you say a fuckin' word, let me lay down some ground rules. Number one: You don’t hurt Edd or Matt...unless you have a death wish. Simple as that.”

He sounds like a slimy disney princess, too feminine in the way he sung the last sentence- definitely not a bloodthirsty communist who was perhaps a _smidge_ too overprotective of his friends. This was Tom’s first red flag that Tord was going to be a complete nuisance for him.

Somehow during this interaction, a revolver had mysteriously made it's way into Tord’s hands, immediately putting Tom on the alert. Tord swung the little contraption around his index finger, a wide, maniacal grin pulling at his chapped lips. Dear god... what had Tom gotten himself into…

Hypersensitive to any noise, a deep chuckle pulled him out of his panic-induced thoughts, reminding the android that there was probably a better time than now to evaluate his life choices. Hell, even if he hadn’t been logical enough to refocus, the psychopath leaning in near his face definitely gave Tom proper initiative to remain attentive.

“Most important of all, is rule number three: don’t touch my bacon or my guns. If ya' do…you die. -And I really hope you’re gay, because if I find out-and I will find out- that you even went NEAR my beloved hentai, I will cut off your dick and stick it right up your ass, _understood_?”

Funny, Tom didn’t have a dick- at least, he didn’t…think…he did? Ah… fuck, time to ask that helpful database in his head for information about this. It quickly corrected him to a more proper synonym for the term: Penis.

Penis:-noun, plural pe·nis·es, pe·nes [pee-neez] Anatomy, Zoology.  
1\. the male organ of copulation and, in mammals, of urinary excretion.

Several Images found their way into his software shortly after this definition was given. With how vividly these pictures were burned into the cavern of his ‘mind’, it was no surprise when a look of pure terror grew on Tom’s expression, warping his signature blank stare in favor of becoming far more expressive than he ever wanted it to be.

Human genitalia never failed to disgust him in ways he never knew possible. First he had discovered the terror that was the vagina and now…this. What a fucking nightmare.

Still, this wrinkly, human appendage Tom had learned of was not the only reason behind his disturbed expression. That dishonor was equally distributed to another specifically horrific fact that he knew would plague his metaphorical dreams : **_Tord fucking forgot number two_ _..._**

What kind of monster would forget how to _count_ properly?! Tom knew he was generally more intelligent than the average human-but this was basic arithmatic!

Any respect he held for the norski completely vanished- with only his frustration remaining in the cluttered space of his mind. Low growls- threatening and borderline animalistic- were drawn out from the robot- who was growing more agitated by the minute. Tord’s sudden aggression was annoying, there was no doubt about that, but his change in mood what not the cause of Tom’s hostility.

Believe it or not, this rush of anger was completely fake- his exaggerated emotions being no different than a pawn used for strategic moves in chess. What was his plan, you may ask? Simple. Through the use of his skillset and knowledge of the human psyche, Tom would ensure himself a role in this predetermined home of his.

Breaking Tord was his first priority- if he didn’t succeed in teaching this asshole who exactly was in control, the other members of this household would follow his lead and potentially discover the secrets Tom tried so damn hard to hide.

A man this dangerously stupid could _easily_ fuck Tom over in ways the robot would surely find displeasing. With this in mind, he knew it was time to act.

Lifting his right hand to firmly grasp the arm reaching out to silence him, Tom twisted it to an unnatural angle- approximately sixty-seven degrees according to his software- causing Tord to quickly recoil backwards, the norski desperately pulling his arm to try and free himself from the pain. In his panic, that same revolver was raised to aim at Tom’s head, an effort soon to be proven futile.

With his other palm, Tom blocked the opening to Tord's gun, a soft, almost innocent smile pulling at his lips. If Tord were to fire, all that would happen would be a miniature explosion- killing Tord and barely even denting the strong metal of Tom’s hand.  
Deep chuckles shook the robot, a dark undertone being found in the rich, almost soothing noises.

“I recommended you learn your place, Larkson. It would be unwise to start a quarrel with me. I truly have no want to hurt you-"

The gloved hand gripping Tord’s arm tightened its grip, pushing the bones hidden under his skin to crack under the pressure. Slowly but surely, Tom was going to crush the norski’s limb until he got what he wanted: complete submission.

Unfortunately for him, the android was soon going to learn that if there was one person he couldn’t break, it was Tord.

“-But if you continue to prove yourself to be a nuisance, I will have no choice but to play dirty. Surely you wouldn’t want to lose an arm, _Tord_?” He purred out, becoming far more expressive than he ever had been before. That once cold, untrusting tone of voice had become soothing and melodic- the type of voice you’d associate with a close friend… _or lover?_

Tord’s once fearful expression morphed into a grin, his eyes sparkling with excitement. To him, this was nothing more than a playground game- a battle to be won.

With this in mind, there was only one last phrase left for him to say:

“That’s it. I’ve decided, you are totally becoming my bro. Plus, you’re too interesting to kill for now. So, how bout' you let go of me, friend, and I’ll show you around?” Tord offered, throwing his firearm aside to instead hold out his hand to Tom in a friendly gesture- a handshake perhaps?

To be honest, the robot wasn’t quite sure. All he knew was that this interaction was very, _very_ strange and daresay even...enjoyable? It wasn’t often that someone met his gaze without fear- nor that someone called him a…friend. Tom knew better than to act on his software emulated emotions, but- oh, fuck it, he ran away as a result of feelings…surely handing Tord a little kindness couldn’t kill him?

Life almost always proved him wrong.

_Turning his head to gaze upon the battlefield, Tom took in the sight of war, each soldier falling down sending a thrill through his spine. It was only a matter of time before that would become him; finally, he’d escape through the only true way possible: destruction. Humans were designed to be discarded, robots-destroyed. There was no chance of a ‘happy ending’ for man or its creation- no chance in hell. Once, he had known true happiness, how it felt to belong- but every memory of his better past was a blur. So badly was it that he wanted to remember- to be able to piece the puzzle that was himself together- to see **him** again. _

_Freeing himself from his mind, the android walked straight into the chaos, only stopping when he heard someone call out to him. Eyes widening, Tom felt his heart shatter into millions of fragile pieces._

_“Thomas?”_

**_It was always him._ **


	3. Not a chapter

This fic isn't dead  
Sorry for the delay, I've had a very busy schedule lately  
Chapter three will be posted in a few days  
...though i would like to know if anyone would still be interested in this being updated.


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